


Never Have I Ever

by orange_panic_archive



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, But very consensual?, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, Not Canon Compliant, Office Sex, Sappy Ending, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26838574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_panic_archive/pseuds/orange_panic_archive
Summary: Asami makes General Iroh a watch for their anniversary. But what can he give the girl who has everything?Cute smut.
Relationships: Iroh II/Asami Sato
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Never Have I Ever

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a break from a longer piece to write... whatever this is. There was a part of that story where Iroh has this throwaway thought: 
> 
> "And for their one year anniversary she’d made him a wristwatch where all the numbers were one—a reference to both the occasion and Iroh’s tendency to always be right on time. He’d laughed so hard he could hardly breathe, but when he’d shown the gift to Bolin and Mako they’d only been puzzled. He, in turn, had done something to her in her office that she’d once joked he’d never, ever do, just to see the shock on her face."
> 
> I kept wondering what exactly Iroh had done in the office. Finally, I decided to find out.
> 
> Set in the same world as Glass and AWOL, so canon-divergent, about what would have been late LOK3. Comments welcome.

Asami heard a knock. _Ugh._ She was so close to being done, the last thing she wanted was an interruption. Usually her assistant, Yu Tian, knew better than to let people wander in this late in the day. And he knew she had a date tonight, it was in her calendar book. She’d have to have a talk with him tomorrow about it.

But in the meantime, there wasn’t much Asami could do. She couldn’t leave someone waiting in the lobby, and anyone coming by this late probably had a good reason for it. She put down her pen, slid a folder over the report she’d been reading on the off-chance the visitor was Varrick, and called, “Come in.” 

To her surprise, Iroh poked his head in the door. He glanced around the large office, as if making sure it was empty, then took a step forward. “Hey,” he said, and smiled a little. “Am I interrupting you?”

Asami felt herself smile back. He was interrupting, but it was hard not to be happy about it anyway. She was puzzled though. The plan had been to meet up for dinner later. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Fine, fine, just a small change of plans. Do you need some more time?”

“I’m just finishing up. Give me two minutes?”

Iroh made a show of looking at his watch, then grinned at her. She’d given it to him this morning, having not been able to wait. Patience was more Iroh’s department. She’d made it herself, mostly, only using pre-cut pieces for the most delicate parts of the mechanism. It was gold—well, plated—with a brown leather band and an intricate face of gold, bronze, and a deep navy blue that she thought set off his eyes. But what was truly special about the watch, what made it Iroh’s watch, was that all of the numbers on the face read “1”. The joke being that Iroh was always impeccably on time, and didn’t need a watch at all. It was also a nod to the occasion. Today marked one year since their first date.

Iroh had laughed so hard at the watch that morning she’d thought he might suffocate. He’d then proceeded to proudly show it to anyone he could get to look at it, including another couple in the elevator at his apartment, a woman waiting for a satobus, and the two United Forces security officers at the checkpoint where she’d dropped him that morning. She didn’t think he was faking it, either. Iroh was both quiet and shy—she’d learned those two were different—and usually went out of his way not to talk to strangers unless he was really excited. She was glad she’d guessed correctly that he’d find it funny, and he seemed genuinely touched and impressed that she’d made it herself. But after all, what else would you give a man who could buy whatever he wanted?

“Two minutes,” Iroh said. Then he stepped through the door and closed it behind him. Asami saw that he was keeping one hand behind his back. 

“What have you got?” she asked.

“You said two minutes. I’m counting.”

Asami forced herself to look back down at her desk. She uncovered the report, scanned the final two pages, and made a few notes to follow up on in the morning. Having Iroh standing there was a bit distracting though. Tall and straight, his red United Forces uniform perfectly pressed, he was much nicer to look at than a materials forecast report. 

“Okay,” she said, making one final note. She placed the report and her notebook into the top drawer of her large wooden desk before locking it. “Ready if you are.” She looked up to see Iroh striding across the room, one arm still behind his back. Asami started to stand.

“No, stay where you are,” Iroh said quickly. He glanced back at the door again, then brought out the hand that had been behind his back to reveal a beautiful bouquet. Thick green stems surrounded an assortment of fat orange and white ruffled flowers, interspersed here and there with sprigs of red, green, and deep gold. It was unusual, and all the more gorgeous for it. Like she had known about Iroh’s watch, he’d understood that Asami would find predictable flowers, well, predictable. Mako had bought her flowers far more often than Iroh ever did, but they were always red roses from the corner shop by his apartment, every single time, as if he’d read a set of instructions for women and was checking off a duty. When Iroh got her flowers, he meant it. 

“Iroh, they’re beautiful!” She started to get up again, reaching for them.

“No!” He stepped forwards and held out a hand, his eyes a little wide. “Stay there. There’s... something else.”

Asami cocked her head at him and sat back in her chair. It was one of the big leather ones that had belonged to her father. Like the massive executive desk and most of the other furniture, it had come with the room. The whole feel was stuffy and opulent, and not her style at all, but she’d quickly realized that it was exactly the kind of rich, imposing office everyone assumed that a company president had. At some point she would get around to redecorating Future Industries anyway, but with everything else that had gone on since her father’s arrest it hadn’t been a priority. And besides, the chair was comfortable.

Iroh walked around the right side of her desk, then ran one hand quickly through his dark hair. Like he did when he was nervous. But what would he be nervous about? He looked hard at her desk for a moment, almost seeming to study it, then nodded slightly. “Here,” Iroh said, and leaned down to hand her the flowers. Asami reached out and took them, giving Iroh a questioning look. He was acting very weird, but either he missed her look or chose not to say anything.

Asami eyed the bouquet, trying to see if there was something strange about it, but besides it being filled with rather funny fluffy flowers it seemed normal enough. She brought it to her face. It smelled wonderful, deep and rich, like freshly cut grass and spring leaves and honeycomb all rolled into one. She breathed in deeply. Then Asami felt something cold on her skin, first one wrist, then the other.

She looked down. At first she didn’t understand. She was wearing silver bracelets. Was that part of the gift? A split second later her brain caught up with her eyes, and she realized that Iroh had handcuffed her. She was now attached to the desk, the rather long chain looping through the handle of the drawer she’d just locked. He’d apparently used handing her the flowers as a distraction and a way to bring her wrists together. She didn’t quite know how he’d managed it, but Iroh had quick reflexes from a lifetime of firebending and had always been fast.

“Iroh, what?” She was too shocked to think of anything better to say.

Iroh stepped forwards and quickly scooped up the key she’d used to lock the top drawer shut. Then he took a hurried step back, stuffing it in his pocket. “You said I’d never.” He ran his hand through his hair again, and she noticed his pale cheeks were a little pink.

“Iroh”—she yanked at the cuffs—”I’m serious, what’s going on? I said you’d never what?”

“You said I’d never have sex in the office. Actually, you said I’d never do quite a few things. I’m here to prove you wrong.” The pink on his cheeks deepened.

Asami stopped, not quite believing what she was hearing. Iroh was incredibly passionate, and surprisingly creative when the mood suited him, but he was also very private. During their first few weeks of dating they’d been so sexually frustrated they had seemingly tumbled into every darkened doorway together, too focused on every kiss and stroke to care overmuch how dark it really was. But after they’d found a more regular release, Iroh had been much more reticent about public displays of affection. He’d barely give her more than a chaste kiss unless they were with close friends or alone, especially when he was in uniform. The idea of Iroh doing anything at all to her in the CEO’s office at Future Industries was ludicrous. Though they were fairly high up, the whole wall behind her was glass. Spirits, he hadn’t even locked the door. 

“Iroh, you can’t be serious.”

As if in answer, he started undoing the buttons on his scarlet uniform jacket. His face got a little redder, but he seemed resolute. “I am.”

“But Yu Tian—”

“Is spending the 100 yuan bonus I just gave him down at Flameo’s as we speak.” 

She jangled her wrists. “What are the handcuffs for?”

“Technically, they’re long-line manacles.”

“Iroh, where did you get manacles?”

One corner of Iroh’s mouth ticked up in a smile. “I borrowed them from Mako.” Asami’s jaw dropped. “Well it was that or ask Lin, and frankly that was not a conversation I thought I’d survive. I told Mako that I wanted to practice trying to break out of them considering how many times I’ve wound up cuffed to things. I seem to do okay with ropes, but I’ve never actually gotten out of handcuffs.” She thought Iroh had a point there. The last time he’d escaped capture he’d had to hike six miles in the snow with his hands cuffed behind his back.

Iroh finished the three buttons on his coat and pulled it open, then unbuckled the belt at the bottom. “Now, there might be cleaning staff eventually. I suggest you stop interrupting me.” He undid the belt with a flourish, then tossed it at her feet. The heavy gold buckle landed on top of one of her black heeled boots with a soft thump. 

Asami watched as he loosened his white and red collar, the one usually carefully knotted and tucked into his buttoned jacket. She had to hand it to Iroh that the man knew how to dress, even if out of uniform he usually wore just a t-shirt and jeans or his black fatigues. Tall and thin, but muscular, it probably helped that nothing looked bad on him. Iroh pulled the collar free, then tossed it onto her lap. Asami giggled. She couldn’t help it. The idea of Iroh, her Iroh, trying to do a striptease in her office was just too much.

“What?” he asked. His golden eyes looked suddenly unsure. 

Asami grinned, then whistled. Iroh smiled awkwardly, seeming reassured. He was often somewhat embarrassed when she saw him naked, even still, and it was probably taking every ounce of courage he had to do something like this. Asami had never understood it. Iroh was, quite simply, ridiculously hot, both with and without his clothes on. She was still hoping that lots of positive reinforcement would eventually help.

Red jacket undone, Iroh reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of thin gray glasses. “By special request,” he said, giving her a slight bow, and put them on. The square frames barely magnified his eyes at all. Iroh hardly needed glasses, and only used them if he was reading for long periods. But Asami thought they were kind of sexy, and apparently he’d been paying attention. They also made him look like a nerd, but Iroh _was_ a bit of a nerd, and that didn’t exactly lessen the appeal. With her bedroom stacked with books on mechanical engineering, no one could say Asami wasn’t a bit of a nerd as well.

She clapped and whistled again. Iroh peeled off his jacket to reveal a plain white t-shirt beneath it. It was late spring, and still cool in the evenings, but the days were warm and, like most firebenders, Iroh ran hot. He folded the jacket neatly, then looked down at it in his hands. He flashed her a wicked grin and instead tossed it behind him. 

“You _rebel,_ ” laughed Asami. Iroh spent a lot of time ironing that jacket. He said he liked to set an example, but she knew he also liked straight lines. “What else have you got?” She started to get up, wanting very much to help him with the rest of it, but then felt the cold pressure on her wrists and remembered she was handcuffed to the desk. She sat back down again.

“I’m sensing that you want to participate,” Iroh said. He leaned down and pulled off one black boot, then the other, and kicked them aside with his bare foot. He stood back up and pushed the glasses back up onto his nose. Then he shoved his black hair out of his eyes and swallowed hard. “So I’ll let you vote. What happens next?”

“Lose the pants,” Asami said quickly. It wasn’t a contest. His t-shirt was already tight, and Iroh had a very nice ass that was hard to fully appreciate in his stiff uniform trousers. She liked the uniform just fine, but he looked amazing in jeans. Or not in them.

Iroh nodded and stepped forwards, this time flushing to the roots of his hair. “Would you, er, care to assist?”

Asami reached out as far as her hands could go and undid the top button on his pants. Then she ran her index finger slowly down the front. She heard Iroh let out a breath. Spirits, he was so hard already, it was quite the trick that it didn’t show more. Iroh wasn't exactly... lacking. Asami wondered briefly if the tailors at the United Forces had designed the uniforms like that on purpose to try to minimize embarrassment for the troops. She ran her finger back up, then unzipped the pants. To her surprise, instead of the usual black, the shorts he wore beneath were bright red. She reached her hand inside, but to her surprise Iroh stepped back. 

“No,” he said, looking like it was killing him, “we’re not to the interactive part yet.” He stepped out of the pants, then tossed them backwards on top of the jacket. The red undershorts were a bright contrast against his pale skin. Then he gave her another little bow. “May I offer you a drink?”

“A drink? Uh… ok?” Asami knew Iroh kept a bottle of brandy in his own office for guests, but she didn’t have anything on hand herself.

Iroh walked back around to the front of her desk. In profile, and without the pants, his erection was obvious. Asami shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The “interactive part” was sounding better and better. Iroh bent down and she heard a rustle, then a soft clink. He must have had a bag behind his back as well, but put it down in front of the desk while she’d been focused on her work. Asami heard a faint pop. Iroh stood up again holding a slender flute of what looked like champagne. It was slightly pink, just the way she liked it. 

“My lady,” he said, walking back around the desk and offering her the glass. She took it with her cuffed hand and sipped. She wasn’t enough of a connoisseur to know the type, but whatever it was was very good. She took another, deeper drink. Why the hell not? This was clearly a live it up kind of evening.

“Don’t stop now,” she said. She licked her upper lip. “What’s next?” 

Iroh stripped off his t-shirt, revealing a lean muscled torso with quite a few scars, mostly burns and a few long sword cuts. He’d spent his entire adult life in the United Forces, and it showed. At first he’d worried that she’d think the scars ugly, but Asami just found them brave. There were no scars on Iroh's back. He tossed the shirt at her, but with her hands cuffed to the desk and still holding the glass she couldn’t catch it. It hit her in the face instead, a soft bundle that smelled like Iroh, then fell to her lap. 

“Shit! Sorry.” Iroh looked mortified.

Asami giggled again. She couldn’t help it. This was all just so surreal. Seeing she found it funny, Iroh relaxed a little, though he looked more apprehensive than ever. He reached his hands behind his neck and stretched, though she couldn’t tell if it was meant to be showing off or simply nervous energy. Either way, it did him no disservice. Iroh worked out six days a week, not necessarily to keep in shape, but because if he didn’t he got restless and depressed. But the side effect was that every inch of his big frame was flat, hard muscle. 

He walked slowly over to her in nothing but the bright red shorts. It was a great color on him. She’d have to remember that. He wore mostly blacks and dark blues off duty, saying both that he got enough red on the job and that he didn’t want to look too “Fire Nation.” Asami told him he dressed like a bruise. A little color now and then wouldn’t kill him.

Iroh knelt down in front of her, tossed the shirt backwards into the pile, then slowly ran a hand up her leg. “Are you ready for the interactive part?” he asked. Asami nodded. She no longer felt like giggling. It being their anniversary, she’d worn a flared off-the-shoulder burgundy dress under her black suit jacket, hoping to be able to go from work to date without stopping off at home. She wasn’t even wearing pantyhose, the weather having finally turned just the week prior. His hand disappeared up under her dress.

Iroh pushed up onto his knees, placing his chest between her legs, and kissed her. His mouth was hot against hers, and eager, as if he was barely holding himself back. Which, she supposed, based on the shape of his shorts he probably was. At the same time she felt his fingers brush the front of her panties, then slip around inside. Asami had no regrets about wearing her nice stuff tonight, and there wasn’t much there to begin with. “I see,” he said against her lips—Iroh wasn’t the only one whose body had a mind of its own—and began gently rubbing, his fingers using her own slickness against her. His other hand reached up into her hair, pulling out one of the sticks she’d used to put it up. She’d spent 20 minutes getting that right this morning, but Asami liked what was happening far too much to care. 

She tried to run a hand through his hair and came up short, her arm pulling tight against the cuffs. It also pulled at her other hand, causing some of her drink to slosh out of the flute and onto Iroh’s shoulder. Her nose filled with the smell of champagne. Iroh chuckled. “Champagne-flavored firebender,” he mumbled, “I see where this is going.” He kissed her more deeply, pushing her back into the leather chair with his body, and Asami felt his soft tongue in her mouth. His kisses were heated and slow, his lips like velvet against her own. There was something about kissing Iroh that always commanded her full attention, that made her feel like she was the only thing in the world. She melted into the back of the chair, opening herself to him, enjoying the warmth spreading to every part of her body.

Iroh tangled his hand in her hair, shaking it free as the second stick fell to the floor, then slid his hand out from under her dress. He brought the other out of her hair and pushed her suit jacket off both her shoulders. He couldn’t take it off, not with her hands the way they were, but the sudden cold made her exposed shoulders shiver. He moved away from her mouth and kissed slowly down her neck, then over her left shoulder. She used the opportunity to kiss the joint between his neck and shoulder. His skin tasted like champagne. At the same time Iroh’s hands reached under her dress again. He barely brushed her center, but it was enough to make her bite gently into his neck. Iroh made a soft sound into her skin. 

He traced the edges of her underwear, then pulled back. Instead he climbed on top of her in the chair. He started kissing her again as he threaded his long legs through the gaps beneath the armrests, finally settling into a position that was more or less straddling her lap. Iroh was heavy, but she liked it, his solid weight pressing her back into the soft leather. He started to grind his hips against her, one arm braced against the back of the chair, the other feeling up her top through the dress. Spirits, it felt like high school, except that it was clear Iroh knew what he was doing. Every movement of his mouth, his hand, his hips was deliberate, and delivered to maximum effect. If only high school had felt half this good. 

It was also frustrating. There was now entirely too much fabric between them. But with her hand still cuffed she couldn’t do much about it. “Iroh,” she breathed. She felt him nod. He gave her a final long kiss, then pulled back. He slid off the chair and onto his knees on the floor.

“Scoot forwards,” he said. Asami moved to the very edge of the leather chair and leaned back, trying to get comfortable with the new angle. Iroh took off his glasses, folding them carefully and setting them to the side next to the flowers on the desk. Then he ran both his hands up the outsides of her thighs to grip the edges of her panties. She lifted her hips slightly so he could slide them down, then off completely. Then his head disappeared under her dress. A moment later she felt his lips on the inside of her thigh. Asami couldn’t believe it. Was this really happening? 

“Iroh, I—”

There was a knock at the door. 

And Iroh... didn’t stop. “Right on time,” he whispered. “Better answer it.” Then to her shock he moved over, spinning her chair, so that he was in the cavity under the desk. She felt his hands on her knees, pushing them apart. 

The knock sounded again. But Asami couldn’t. 

“Come in!” Iroh yelled. He pitched his voice high. No one in their right mind would have thought it sounded like Asami, but apparently it was good enough for whomever was outside her office. The door opened and a young man came in carrying a paper bag. He looked to be about her age, or maybe a little younger, with a bowl of straight black hair and what looked like pitted scars from a bad history of acne. He pulled out a notepad. “Asami Sato?” he asked. Asami nodded. Iroh started kissing her other thigh, then slid his right hand up her leg and dipped one finger inside her. _Oh, spirits._

“Yes?” Asami squeaked. 

“You ordered sushi?” Another finger. Asami nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The delivery man looked at her strangely, then crossed the room. Asami tried to hide her cuffed hands below the desk. She leaned forwards just as she felt Iroh’s tongue on her. “Okay!” she chirped. “Leave it on the desk!” Her voice sounded slightly strangled. 

The man frowned at her, then put the bag on the desk. His eyes flicked to her right, where too late she remembered Iroh had piled his discarded clothes. Asami felt her face growing hot. “It’s all paid for,” the young man said quickly, taking a step back. “Have a good night, ma’am.” Then he turned and hurried out. The door closed a little too loudly behind him.

“ _Iroh! Are you serious?_ ” she hissed. But he was making it hard to concentrate. 

“You also said I’d never have sex in public,” she heard from beneath the desk. “I’m going to say that counts.” There was a pause. “Please let that count.”

It was certainly more than Asami had ever done. She closed her eyes as Iroh resumed what he’d been doing. She started to roll her hips slightly, her breathing growing heavy. She knew Iroh was taking his time, drawing it out, but it wasn’t working. She was so close already. The excitement and fear that came with almost being caught really did do something, it seemed. 

She was just on the edge when Iroh stopped. 

“No,” she breathed.

“I’m taking my time today,” he said. 

“Please.” She needed him _now._ What was he doing? Then she felt his thumb rest gently on her clit. The pads of his fingers were always rough from firebending, and she realized that he’d taken the extra time to heat up his hands using his bending. He started stroking her, his motions long and rough, the heat from his hands searing on her nerves. He was four strokes in when she came explosively, her whole body jerking. But between the cuffs and the grip Iroh had on her she wasn’t able to move much. He kept going, giving her no mercy, until she actually cried out. Then the thumb was replaced by a soft kiss. She shuddered again as Iroh crawled out from under the desk.

He stood up and looked down at her, his dark hair mussed, gold eyes on fire. She wanted him so badly now it actually hurt, a deep throbbing emptiness within her. He couldn’t do what he’d just done to her and then leave it unfinished. And from the look of him, Iroh felt the same way. He might start off shy, but once he got going he was nothing but fire.

He stepped towards her and put his hands on her waist, guiding her into a standing position. “May I?” he asked. Asami nodded, having no idea what he was asking her but knowing that whatever it was, she wanted it. Iroh stepped forwards and scooped her up, one hand behind her back and the other under her knees. She was too surprised and boneless to do anything but let it happen. He spun her, then set her down on the desk so that she faced towards the front of the room, her cuffed arms behind her. The chain was just long enough that it didn’t hurt her wrists, but it felt awkward all the same. 

Iroh walked around to the front of the desk. He leaned forwards and grasped her hips, pulling and sliding her towards him. She could see the taut muscles of his chest and arms and excitement burned in her. He pulled her almost completely flat, so her legs dangled off the front of the desk. The large bouquet was almost even with her face, off to the side where it had been forgotten, filling her head with its exquisite scent. Asami’s arms, of course, stayed where they were, but being so close to the drawer she had enough slack to bend her elbows and roll her shoulders so they were over her head, her suit jacket bunched around her hands. She wondered briefly if Iroh had measured the chain, then decided that he probably had. Iroh was very thorough, and would never want to hurt her. 

She could feel his body between her legs, but when she reached for him the cuffs brought her up short. Now that she was on her back, she couldn’t see much of him at all unless she really tried. She decided not to, instead focusing on the white ceiling, guessing that part of the fun was in the surprise. After all, Iroh had obviously gotten the message that she liked surprises.

Warm rough hands pushed up her dress. He shoved it up as far as it would go, all the way under her arms. The cold air prickled her mostly bare skin, and her whole body tingled with anticipation. Then she felt something colder. This time she did look up, and saw that Iroh had picked up her half-finished champagne and dribbled it onto her stomach. He bent down and licked it off, his hot tongue a startling contrast to the cold air and liquid. He did it again, and again, and again; sometimes higher, sometimes lower. Once he dripped it down her upper thighs, then just brushed her center again with his lips. It felt like he was teasing her.

She groaned. “Please,” she said again. She couldn’t see much, but she heard the faint scratch of fabric. Then she felt him, warm and hard, so hard, just barely touching her. 

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Iroh, if you don’t I—”

He rammed into her. Asami gasped. As close as she’d been, she almost came right then, arching her back into him. Instead she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close, feeling him as he thrust inside her again and again. Iroh was a big man, and strong, and she liked that about him, preferring the crush of his weight to being treated as delicate. Still, he was generally a gentle lover, and this sudden show of force was something new and interesting.

That was all the coherent thought Asami had before she was gone. She cried out, arms jerking at the cuffs, everything forgotten except her own twitching nerves and the smell of champagne and sex and Iroh. Yet he continued his rhythm as if nothing had happened, holding her down, keeping her going. The friction was exquisite, as if every single feeling in her body had been narrowed to a single point, like bright light through a magnifying glass. 

Suddenly, Iroh pulled out. _No!_ she thought. But instead of stopping, he grabbed her hips and rolled her, turning her chest to the desk. He ran his hands over her backside. Then he was in her again, hard, holding her hips with his warm hands. Asami turned her head and saw nothing but bright orange flowers. She felt almost drunk, limp, boiled away to nothing more than pleasure and the cool feel of the desk against her stomach.

Asami felt herself building for a third climax and couldn’t believe it. Iroh hadn’t done that to her since the very early days of their relationship, when it felt like no matter what they did they couldn’t get enough of one another. She started to moan into the desk, not being able to help herself, and heard Iroh’s breathing change. “How… are… close...” he panted.

“Ah,” was all Asami could manage. Iroh rolled her slightly and slipped on hand under her leg to stroke her center again. She shouted his name at his touch, not even caring now if anyone heard them because if she didn’t let it out she’d boil over, explode. She felt Iroh tense, then drive into her twice in quick succession. She came around him as he finished, as hard as she ever had in her life, the world almost graying out with the force of it. In that moment it was like there was nothing in the world besides her own ecstacy, and his.

Iroh slumped on top of her. Asami just lay there, eyes closed, his warm weight a comforting presence on her back. After a few moments she felt him push himself up, then heard him pad around the desk. Something jingled, and then her hands were free. She opened her eyes to find Iroh’s face right in front of hers, his dark hair plastered across his sweating forehead. He grinned, then kissed her quickly on the nose. 

“Happy anniversary.”

***

They sat together underneath her desk, eating the take-away sushi from its cardboard container. The view from Asami’s office was stunning. It was a shame that she spent so much time facing her door instead of enjoying it. Future Industries was at the edge of the city, and from her office on the top floor they could see nearly all of twilight Republic City laid out like a collection of glittering jewels against the sunset pink of Yue Bay. 

Iroh leaned his back against the desk next to her, his long legs tucked comfortably into his chest. He was completely naked except for his watch, but relaxed, any embarrassment long forgotten. She herself had gotten a bit cold and had draped his United Forces jacket over her shoulders, though she was being careful not to drop any food on it. It had seemed a more fitting outfit for the occasion than putting her dress back on, and anyway she liked its weight and scratchy comfort. It felt like Iroh. 

“I thought you were taking me to Arashiyama’s,” Asami said, then stuffed a piece of tuna roll into her mouth. It was delicious. One of the most important lessons Asami had learned in life was that good food often came in unassuming packaging. To her endless joy Iroh got this as well, despite having grown up in a palace. He’d traveled enough with the United Forces that he was actually better at sourcing hole-in-the-wall gems and street food than she was, even though he’d only spent two years in Republic City.

“Would you have liked that better?” Iroh asked. He used his chopsticks to take a piece of the roll she’d just claimed. Iroh was also a shameless food thief. 

Asami looked at Iroh as he munched happily on his stolen roll. His thick hair stuck up adorably, and she saw a small purpling bruise at the base of his neck from where she’d probably bitten him. At some point he’d dripped some soy sauce onto his knee. “Definitely not,” she said, and used her finger to wipe up the sauce.

Iroh swallowed. “I still owe you dinner.”

Asami stabbed at a piece of duck fish. “What do you call this?”

“I mean a nice dinner.”

“This is nice.”

“You know what I mean. I’ll still take you to Arashiyama’s. How about Friday? We can dress up, it’ll be fun.”

It probably would be fun, and you couldn’t deny the food was good. Sometimes good food did come in fancy packages. “What about the _Press?_ ”

“Hang the _Press,_ ” said Iroh. He picked up another piece of her roll. He seemed to like it better than whatever he’d previously moved to his side of the container. “So there’s another photo of you and I on a date. I’m dating you. I have been for a while now.” He looked down at himself, then over at her wearing nothing but his jacket and her boots. “And there are worse things they could photograph us doing.”

“You’re not just dating me. The General of the United Forces is dating the president of Future Industries. You know that will always be the story.”

His golden eyes looked suddenly worried. He pursed his lips, then said quietly, “Do you want to stop?” 

“Of course not, Iroh.” It was unthinkable, really. Sure, there was the attraction, but if she was honest with herself it wasn’t that at all. At some point she’d realized that Iroh was her best friend. Doing without him was impossible.

He seemed to relax. He popped the roll into his mouth, swallowed, then took a sip of champagne. “Then the world can deal with it. And so can we. What kind of man would I be if I let my job and what other people think keep me from taking the woman I love out to dinner? I wouldn’t deserve you.” 

Iroh scooted over so that he could put an arm around her. He made sure to slide it under the jacket. His skin always felt so warm. “Would you make me a promise?” he asked. 

“What?” She glanced up at him, unsure if this was now a serious conversation. Based on the way he was looking at her, she thought it might be.

“Don’t ever change,” Iroh said. “At least, not if you don’t want to. The world expects a lot from you. From me. But can we…” He trailed off, then squeezed the arm around her, as if trying to think of what to say next. “I don’t ever want to lose this part,” he said finally. “And not the physical stuff, that’s not what I mean, though don’t get me wrong, that part is great, but… the good part. The real part. The part that’s actually us.”

Asami knew what he meant. It was all too easy sometimes to be the person other people thought you were. President of Future Industries. General of the United Forces. Republic City socialite and heiress to the Sato fortune. Prince of the Fire Nation. The kind of people whose dates made the Style section in the _Republic City Press,_ and whose very relationship had at one point been the talk of the town. But none of those people ate take-away sushi on their anniversary, and they certainly didn’t do it while sitting naked under a desk. They didn’t laugh hysterically at a watch made of nothing but 1s, or buy their girlfriends funny orange and white flowers instead of red roses, or lick soy sauce off one another’s knees when they dripped. They were only caricatures. They weren’t the people who loved, or were worth loving.

Asami had a thought. “But Iroh, you’ve changed already. You just did a half dozen things you swore you’d never do. Not that I’m complaining.” She really, really wasn’t. “But I’d never have believed any of it if you’d told me only a few hours ago.”

Iroh shook his head. “ _You_ said I’d never do them, Asami. I said no such thing. So it’s not really changing.” He smiled at her. “Maybe it’s only you getting to know me better?”

“Then will you promise me something, too?” Iroh cocked his head, inviting her to continue but promising nothing. She knew he was careful with promises. She liked that about him. “Don’t ever stop letting me get to know you.”

He looked at her carefully, his thick brows knitting together. “Are you sure you want that?” he said slowly. “It could take… a very long time. A lifetime, really. To get to know someone completely.”

Asami leaned over and kissed him lightly on the mouth. He tasted like soy sauce. “Worth it.”

Iroh tightened the arm around her, then kissed her hair. “I love you, Asami,” he said.

“I love you, too. Always.”


End file.
